Have you ever seen Michael Douglas in the film Falling Down? He has basically had enough of life's unfairness and starts to go more than a little crazy at situations that piss him off. I felt like him today. This is because people insist on monopolising mother and baby spaces in supermarket carparks despite their 'babies' being 12 years old. Exactly what requires a mother with kids out of car seat/pram age to require a larger space near the door and the baby trollies? More to the point some of these 'kids' are so old they can practically drive themselves. I am thinking of making up little post it notes with the words "Where is your baby?" on them and sticking them on cars I am sus of. If only I had the time.... I wonder if Tonight with Trevor McDonald would be interested.....
The only thing worse are people with no kids at all parking in mother and baby spaces. All I can say is Karma folks...karma.
My pets are also stretching my goodwill. The dog peed all over the bed last night. Very unusual but his kips on the bed are now under threat after that naughtiness. I am so annoyed because I gave him the chance to do a wee outside just before he snuggled up on the bed. The cat has completely destroyed a lovely wool rug with her scratching. I guess it matches the couches now.... and as for the baby....
...last night was night 8 in a row where she ended up having to share our bed to get to sleep.... I can only imagine what she will be like when she is a toddler...
....sigh.
Lucy has her final set of jabs in a week or so. I remember her first set when she was tiny and two sumo style nurses came at both thighs with a needle. Needless to say Lucy cried. If that had been me 
I would have run.
Her second set of jabs she raised an eyebrow but didn't cry. What a hero.
Her next set who knows? But I do know she is big enough to sustain a jab or two and not get too emotional about it. Some mums in the baby clinic act as though their babies are being sent to Iraq.
I recently read through the pregnancy part of my blog to find much of it was written by a misery guts. But Lucy wasn't that big of a baby when you consider this 'little' guy who as an adult surely they will nickname 'Tiny'.
Aren't women amazing?
This is the sort of freaky contraption I acquired to get rid of Lucy's snot. The directions say to place at the nostril NOT in the nostril. Unless you stick it so far up the nostril that it tickles the brain, this contraption will not suck out snot. I should have stuck to the old fashioned baby aspirator...
This device may look like a freaky sex toy but it does actually work. I know because my mum used to have one for when we were babies and me and my brothers used it to suck up various things when we were toddlers - not only a magnificent snot sucker but a great toy.
Although I am sure it says on the box 'this is not a toy'.
And as for toys...
Lucy has a talking teddy bear. All you have to do is breathe on it and he talks - "Give me one kiss" "Hello I love you give me two kisses" "Yellow is the best colour!" After hearing this 987 times in less than a minute the last thing you want to do is kiss the little bastard.
So she now has a very cool aquarium light thing that I can control. And a caterpillar that sings numbers but only if you beat it with the force of The Hulk.
Great toys. Roll on Christmas.
I have started weaning Lucy in an attempt to curb major hunger and avoid the chunky sort of baby that only 17 bottles of baby milk a day can create.
So far she loves Pears. She would eat them until she was sick...and then carry on. Much like an 18 year old with Smirnoff Ice.
No matter how runny it may be she struggles with Rice Cereal. I must see if I can make it 'sweeter'.
She was OK with Blueberries but Blueberries were NOT OK with her clothes. She likes Sweet Potato and Squash but so does the dog. Bananas are good but they give her man-farts.
To hell with it. I may just give her cheesecake and see if that fills her up.
Lucy recently had a nasty cold. Which she very kindly gave to me. Only I got an even nastier version and still had to take care of madam. You never get advice about taking care of a demanding, teething, ill baby while feeling like hell yourself. Of course when the health visitor came after Lucy was born I had to answer a leaflet with questions like "are you feeling suicidal?" in a classy attempt to curb post natal depression. But they don't ask these questions when you're five foot deep in tissues, smelly over active bowels (baby not me), stained in Calpol and using a Star Trek type device to literally suck snot out of a baby's nose....
I guess I am lucky that the louder Lucy farts and the squelchier the poo - the bigger her smile.
